


Two Punks In Love

by Beguile



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bundling Up, But So Is Matt, Champagne, Christmas, College era, Curling Up By the Fire, Dress Up, Elektra is a brat when she's ill, Emotional Hurt, Fancy, Fluff, Fogwell's Gym, Gift Giving, Holidays, Implied Sexuality, Kissing, Matt cooks!, Mistletoe, Parkour, Parties, Playful Ninja-ing, Promiscuity, Scene Fill for Kinbaku, Self-Discovery, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, Sugar, These two crazy kids, Touch, Undressing, Whump, Winter, Wounds, fireplace, meditations on death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: Now I can't wait to waste my life away with you.Prompt fills for 12 Days of MattElektra.Day 1: Presents (College-Era)Day 3: Winter Weather (Post-S3)Day 4: Mistletoe (Post-S3)Day 5: Red (Post-S3)Day 8: Fireplace (Post-S3)Day 11: Champagne/Like No One ElseDay 12: Free Choice! Elektra Whump





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was for Matt trying to find Elektra the perfect gift, and even though I did not want to use the line, "All I want for Christmas is you," that's the only way I saw this ficlet ending. 
> 
> This collection of fics is titled for the bulow song of the same name. 
> 
> This piece is AU, since it takes place in winter when they scene it sets up is warm enough for neither of them to be wearing jackets. Hope you don't mind. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

* * *

 

               The last time Matt shopped for a girlfriend, he was in high school, and the purchase was simple: some DVD, a bracelet, a bouquet of flowers. None of those gifts are acceptable for Elektra. She doesn’t own movies. The jewellery she likes is way outside of his budget, to say nothing of her penchant for casually discarding pieces at the drop of a hat. As for flowers, Elektra’s impartial. She likes a good bouquet, but like the jewellery, she tires of things so quickly. She would love flowers right up until the moment she didn’t care about them.

               In fact, there isn’t a single thing he can think of that Elektra would want for more than a couple seconds. Growing up in the lap of luxury makes it impossible for her to appreciate things. Which makes it impossible for Matt to shop for her.

               He finally comes out and asks her one night, when they’re curled up in her penthouse. He grips her tight in his arm and pretends that he doesn’t really care, that he isn’t really interested. “What do you want for Christmas?”

               “Mmm…I don’t know.” She snuggles more deeply into his chest. “A new futon for your dorm room.”  
  
               “What’s wrong with my current futon?”

               “Oh, Matthew, so many things.”

               Matt laughs a little, unable to disagree with her. The futon is dilapidated, stolen from the front lawn of a campus fraternity in retaliation for insulting Foggy (and because they needed a futon). Still, “What do you want? For you?”  
  
               Elektra slips out of his grasp, raising herself on an arm. “You don’t know?”

               “If I knew, would I ask?”  
  
               “I thought it was fairly obvious.”

               “Nothing about you is obvious.”

               Her smile warms him in a way that the blankets and her body can’t. He’s given her a gift already by admitting her subtlety. “You don’t have to get me anything, Matthew.” She grips him by the cheek, pulling his face to hers. She lets her lips run across his skin and whispers, “You’re everything I could ever want.”

               The kisses compel Matt to believe her or at the very least stop asking. The answer doesn’t help him. It’s his first Christmas with Elektra, and he isn’t going to put himself in wrapping paper and bows because she wants to play coy about what she wants. He spends the next morning scouring the shops, pretending he has the kind of income to afford antique vases or Victorian toasters or hundred-year-old cameo bracelets.

               He rides the bus back to campus empty-handed, wondering if he should just get the new futon like she said. Not that he can afford that, just that it would be easier. Then he can lie, say he’s the gift, and offer her the chance to break it in with him.

               Maybe that’s the key, Matt thinks. Elektra doesn’t want things; she wants experience. He needs to give her an experience. Not breaking in a new futon; that’s too small for a woman who regularly steals cars and sneaks into yacht club parties posing as foreign royalty (despite having a name permanently fixed on the list for those parties). Matt needs something big, something monumental, something Elektra can’t get anywhere else.

               That he doesn’t make a plan feels right. He has her meet him in Midtown on Friday, and they spend several hours playing tourists in Times Square. Then as they’re walking to Elektra’s penthouse, Matt takes a detour down an alley. He hops up a fire escape – a little shaky: he hasn’t done this in years – and gestures for her to follow.

               Elektra’s heartbeat soars. She leaps after him, as gentle as a breeze but fast, so terrifyingly fast. She makes it to the roof, hot on his heels.

               "You never told me you knew parkour," she says. 

               “You never told me you knew parkour," Matt counters. He takes her by the hand, kissing her once on the knuckles, before he takes off again.

               It comes back to him: the spinning, the flipping; kicking off one surface to land on another; running along walls before tumbling headlong onto adjacent rooftops. Elektra stays with him, matching his pace, and without asking or signalling in any way, she starts tag-teaming the journey with him: using him for balance, for momentum, for speed. They’re dancing their way through the city. Responding to her feels so right. Matt releases her and can’t wait to put his hands back on her again.

               They land, laughing, on several old brownstones, the fuzz of television sets and chatter of families rising from the houses below. Matt takes Elektra around the waist, holding her against the chill in the air. He tilts his head. “You see that house across the street? Red mailbox?” Elektra hums her assent. “That’s where I grew up.”  
  
               “The old Murdock homestead.”  
  
               “Yeah,” Matt beams, “The old Murdock homestead.”

               Her heart stays its excited pace. She nuzzles into his neck. “I’d ask if it looks the way you remember it –“  
  
               “I can’t remember it,” Matt says, “Not well.”  
  
               “You know the way back.”  
  
               “Yeah,” he releases a breath, feeling the prickle of condensation on his cheeks from the cloud of his respiration, “I used to escape sometimes. Break out of St. Agnes. Come back here. Got pretty good at finding my way. I could probably…I could probably find my way back here from anywhere in the city.”  
  
               Elektra runs her hands along his arms, but she doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, pressed close to him, perfectly at ease in the moment, and he stands there with her, reveling in the fact that she hasn’t disappeared, that she’s enjoying herself. That he found the one thing Elektra Natchios could possibly want and that he gave it to her.

               Matt realizes, then, where they’re actually going. “There’s one more place I want to show you.” He takes her by the hand and heads towards the next roof with her, the path coming back to him as easily as the path to the house.

               She loops an arm around his neck when they leap, and Matt responds exactly as she planned: by scooping her up in his arms, by carrying her through the freefall. She’s gone as soon as they hit the ground, but she doesn’t stray far from his side. “I can’t wait,” Elektra tells him.

               Matt moves a little faster after that. He doesn’t want to keep her waiting. At the edge of the next roof, they take a plunge into the alley below. They come to a locked door, huffing and puffing in the winter nighttime.

               “Merry Christmas, Elektra,” Matt says.

               He breaks the window in the door, and lets them into Fogwell’s.

* * *

 Happy Reading!


	2. Winter Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elektra's not good at restraint; Matthew's not good at accepting help. 
> 
> But they're both learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt I received from [significantowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl) on Day 3 of 12 Days of MattElektra: winter weather. The prompt itself was for Elektra bundling Matt up against the cold. This was so much fun to write. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

They walk on eggshells following her return, so much so that Elektra restrains herself. Uncharacteristic, she knows, but thoroughly necessary where Matthew’s concerned. He’s more guarded, his affections embittered; he doesn’t keep her from his friends, and they form a protective circle around him, most especially the nun who tended to him after Midland Circle.

               Only the masks bring relief. Daredevil’s forgiven her, or maybe he was never angry with her in the first place. Or maybe Daredevil just deals with his anger better than Matthew. Whatever the reason, once Elektra proves she is committed to his code, Daredevil welcomes her nightly on patrol, and for brief, shining hours, it’s like Midland Circle never happened. They start right back at the moment before she died the first time.

               Elektra’s more than a little disappointed, then, when the Devil doesn’t show. She searches his haunts around Hell’s Kitchen, then searches for Matthew instead. He isn’t at Nelson’s; Page is having dinner with her former editor. The lights are off at Matthew’s apartment, but she hears him below, hurriedly calling numbers on his cell phone, and reassuring his neighbours that he’s taking care of it.

               She listens at the door of the roof: Matthew’s teeth chattering in between some serious dialogue over the phone. He’s righteous and furious differently without the mask: a bark with more teeth than his bite. Elektra could listen to him all night doing his precious little lawyer shtick, but she can’t help but hear the frog in his throat, that weary sigh whenever he’s put on hold or hung up on.

               Her restraint only holds out so long. She’s bad at restraint: learning, but still bad at it, and really, after Matthew loses another phone battle, there’s no use in holding back. Elektra lets herself in. The apartment is little warmer than the outside.

               “What are you doing here?” Matthew says darkly.  
  
               Her breath is a cloud in the darkened apartment. Elektra crosses her arms across her chest, suppressing a shiver. “I missed you tonight.”

               “I’m fine,” he replies. “The heat’s out in the building, and the super isn’t responding to calls –“  
  
               Elektra shrugs. “I still have the penthouse in Midtown. Heat’s still working there.”  
  
               “The other tenants –“  
  
               Another shrug. “I’ll put them up in a hotel.”  
  
               Matthew laughs: “At Christmas? You’ll never find enough empty rooms.”  
  
               “I’ll put them up in multiple hotels,” Elektra says. She reaches for her phone, forgetting that she doesn’t carry one on patrol. She comes over to Matthew, reaching for his.

               He dodges her, the open folds of his coat revealing his loosened tie, his unbuttoned jacket. Billboard light catches the red tips of his fingers. Elektra scans the room, finding his scarf and mittens discarded on the sofa, torn off in a fury, no doubt, when he arrived to a cold building filled with cold tenants at Christmas.

               “I can handle this,” Matthew says. “You can go.”  
  
               “Very well,” Elektra replies. She takes a few steps towards the front door. “You take care of this your way. I’ll take care of this my way. We’ll see who gets the tenants a warm place to sleep first.”  
  
               Matthew scoffs at her; Elektra keeps on walking. There’s a phone somewhere in the building owned by a person less grabby than Matthew, one who’ll appreciate the accommodations she can get.

               She isn’t a step down the hallway before he says her name. Elektra makes him wait a beat before sticking her head back in the living room. He’s offering her the phone.

               “Call,” he tells her. And then, though it pains him to do it, “ _Please_.”

               Elektra lets her smile stretch across her face. She stalks back into the room, picking up Matthew’s discarded mittens and scarf as she does. She takes his phone, and while rushing through numbers, lying to hotel managers, transferring funds, and leaving strongly worded voicemails, Elektra puts her hands to work. She buttons up Matthew’s sport coat despite his efforts to stop her. She zips up his jacket, following him when he steps back from her. He tries to take the scarf and mitts out of her hands, even tries to swat them away, but Elektra’s too quick.

               “I’m not a child,” he says, and Elektra shushes him. “I’m on the phone, Matthew.” She wraps the scarf around the lower half of his face as if to gag him. Matthew tugs the fabric down onto his neck, revealing a scornful pout.

               Elektra runs a gloved hand over his cheek. She continues negotiations for the remaining rooms in a Midtown hotel while hold up one glove at a time, waiting for Matthew to silently – and furiously – raise his hand so she can pull them on. “There’s a good man,” she whispers in a volume only he can hear. Matt mouths a few choices words back to her, and Elektra beams.

               They get the tenants settled for the night at various accommodations, and once the last of Matthew’s neighbours are out of his frigid apartment, Elektra pushes him into a limo – “You have done enough, Matthew” – and gives the driver her address, along with instructions to raise the heat.

               Matthew huddles on the far side of the cab, shirking her ministrations. He mutters that he’ll be going to the hotel. “Fine,” Elektra says, “But you’re warming up first.”  
  
               “ _I’m fine_.”  
  
               “Does anyone believe you when you say that?” No answer. Elektra smirks. “I thought not.”  
  
               She’s still surprised when he comes into the lobby with her. No fighting, no yelling, at least not out loud. Matthew’s fury is all beneath the surface, buried deep: below the pallor of his skin, the faint shivers she can see wrecking through him. He has his jaw clenched so tight that Elektra’s molars ache in sympathy.

               It wouldn’t be difficult to drag him. The doorman is easy enough to bribe, a fact Elektra knows from experience. She could kill a man in the lobby and the doorman would never speak against her. And while there’s a thrill in overpowering Matthew, Elektra can’t bring herself to do it. Midland Circle marked the last time she’d ever use Matthew’s affections against him. If he is going to come upstairs, he is going to come because he wants to, or at the very least, she’s going to give him the ability to choose at least once before overpowering him.

               Restraint: she’s still learning.

               “Please, Matthew,” Elektra says. She reaches, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. He blinks behind the shield of his glasses, coming out of his rage. The shivers loose themselves to the surface too. He is rattling under his coat. Elektra grips him just a little more tightly. “It’s cold.”

               His eyes close tight. The muscles around his jaw loosens. He hangs his head slightly, and he nods, and Elektra does her best not to grab him and walk him to the elevators. She lets him do that all on his own, trying to look past his expression to see the good she’s done. If this were anyone else, Matthew would be proud of her. He’d be helping her, even. It’s only for himself that he has to be so damn difficult.

               The penthouse is already warm, but Elektra raises the temperature by a couple degrees. She gets a fire going. Matthew is taking off his jacket, scarf, and mitts; she expedites the process, adding, “The shirt too. And the pants.”  
  
               “We’re not –“

               “Warming you up? Oh, yes, we are.” Elektra fetches one of the down comforters from the linen closet. She tosses it over his shoulders once his shirt’s gone, and she drags him over to the couch in front of the fireplace. Matthew struggles with his pants under the blanket; Elektra uses the time to toss off her coat and weapons and armour. “We’re not –“ Matt tries again, and this time, Elektra replies, “We’re not.” She tucks herself under the blanket with him and pushes him onto the couch.

               They tumble and tussle. Elektra anticipates the fight but is stunned at the reason. What starts as Matthew’s usual defence mechanisms quickly reveals itself to be a matter of sensation. “You’re warm,” he says, shivering violently.

               Elektra melds into him then – “You’re cold” – letting her heat fill up his skin, seep into his muscles, all the way into his bones.

* * *

 

Happy reading!

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 4 of 12 Days of MattElektra. I chose the prompt Mistletoe. 
> 
> Be careful with this one: you're probably going to get a cavity. It's _that_ sugary.

* * *

 

Matt supposes he ought to start getting used to frequent break-ins. It would save him the dismayed pause outside of his apartment door, rolling his eyes and wondering what he’ll find. Last time it was a Christmas tree. The time before that? A fight. Elektra tussling with some underworld crony. They never did find out who the guy was after.

               He opens the door to the scent of mulled wine and baking. Elektra’s there in the living room. Electricity buzzes through the lights on the tree. Matt tosses off his jacket, gloves, and scarf. He folds his cane, but he hangs onto it. Might need an advantage in whatever it is Elektra has planned.

               Nothing seems amiss in the living room. Matt casts out his senses, taking in the festive scents, Elektra’s slow approach, and…a rustle across the ceiling? He glances up, listening hard, wondering if there’s an animal trapped in his rafters. He’s about to ask Elektra when she wraps her hands around the back of his head and plants a kiss on him.

               Matt extricates himself, stepping to the side. “Elektra, what is –“   
  
               A laugh catches itself in the back of her throat when she kisses him again.

               “What are you doing?” Matt asks. He steps away from her again, trying to get his bearings. There’s something up near his ceiling causing the sound of his voice to ricochet, and Elektra’s heartbeat is practically screaming, “I did it! It’s me!” as it flutters away like a hummingbird in her chest.

               Her voice stays low, feigning innocence. “It’s custom to kiss under the mistletoe.”

               Matt takes another step away. The rustling follows him, as does the gallop of Elektra’s heart. She seems to vanish for a moment, then reappears with a peck on his cheek and a laugh when he tries to catch her.

               He considers going into the kitchen, but the ceiling seems to be covered there too. His entire living room certainly is. Matt breathes a sigh, lowering his cane. He places one hand on the wall to get his bearings, then he steps forward, knowing full well what he’s getting into when he asks, “What about here? Still mistletoe?”   
  
               Elektra sidles over to him. “Yes,” she kisses him, “There is.”   
  
               Matt steps again, right under a patch of leaves rattling against each other. “And here?”   
  
               Another kiss: “I’m afraid so.”   
  
               He dive-rolls into the corner: “Here?”   
  
               Elektra appears from behind him, and he catches her, pressing her into the wall. She doesn’t speak, merely nods, her forehead nuzzling against his chin. He runs his hands along her cheek, her neck, her shoulders, then kisses her.

               It feels good to be standing still with her. Fills good to let their body heat fill up one of the vacant corners of the apartment, to reclaim the space from the ghosts of themselves that they left behind.

               Matt lowers his hand sadly, remembering that this ends, it always ends, but then he puts his hand back on her waist and holds on with every ounce of his will. “You’ll have to show me where the rest of them are.”

               Elektra beams. “Wait till I show you the bedroom.”

               Matt moves immediately in that direction. Elektra laughs and takes him by the wrist as if to stop him, but it doesn’t take much for him to scoop her up in his arms and carry her, kissing her under the mistletoe the whole time.

* * *

Happy Reading!

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Red
> 
> I wasn't sure where to begin - there are so many ways to interpret Red between Matt and Elektra! I went back through some of my old Tumblr prompts and found one asking for injured Elektra; my difficulty was conceiving of an injury she could receive after being resurrected by the Hand. Then I remembered emotional injuries were a Thing, and I rolled with that. 
> 
> There's probably more to write for this, but I'm going to post the way it is. Enjoy!

* * *

****“No, no, no-“ Matt tears off his gloves and pushes his hands down into the hot, bloody meat of her thigh, and he struggles to get his hearing out from under the pounding of his own heart. “No, stay with me-“  
  
              “Matthew.”   
  
                “Not again!”

              “Matthew.” Elektra cups a hand on his cheek, and Matt buries himself in her palm. They’ve been here before, right here, with her heartbeat fading into oblivion and blood draining out of her. Matt’s walked off the rooftop without her. He crawled out from under Midland Circle without her.

              “Not again.”   
  
              “No,” Elektra promises. “Let go, Matthew.”   
  
              “NO.”   
  
              “Matthew.”

              Her pulse thrums through her palm into his cheek. Matt waits for it to sputter and stop, but Elektra’s heart marches on at the same pace.

              He eases up on the grip to her thigh. Blood seems to be flowing more slowly. Actually, Matt probes the area and finds it’s not flowing at all. The gash is completely healed.

              Elektra sits up, bringing her face within inches of his. Matt can feel her breath on his chin, and he’s so grateful, so incredibly grateful, but it doesn’t take long for the gratitude to sour in his stomach, to twist him up inside. “Is this…?” He runs a hand over the newly healed flesh of her thigh, “Is this what happens? Every time?”

              She nods, her brow brushing his face. Matt leans back, a rush of horror running through him. God damn it, he should be happy. Why isn’t he happy? She’s alive, and they’re together, and the person who did this isn’t dead; Elektra didn’t kill.

              “Every time,” Elektra says softly. “Until…”   
  
              Matt hates that she makes him ask, but then he realizes she’s not really making him. Elektra doesn’t want to say; he doesn’t want to know. But Matt can’t walk off the roof carrying the burden of what’s unspoken than he can with her corpse for the second time in their lives.

              “Until what?”   
  
              Elektra sighs. “Until one day it doesn’t. Until, one day, I start falling apart. My body will turn against me. My mind…” She sighs again, and she puts on her happy voice, the one she uses to laugh in the face of death. “But that’s a long time from now. I’ve got centuries to worry about that.”

              She grabs him by the hand before he can drift away from her. “Don’t, Matthew.”   
  
              “Don’t, what?” he asks, wincing when he fails to laugh at death – or lack thereof – too.

              “Don’t grieve.”   
  
              “I’m not.” Then, in order to convince her, “What’s there to grieve? You’re not dead. You can’t die.”   
  
              Elektra cups a hand behind his head. She doesn’t say anything, but her heart does all the speaking for her.

              “I didn’t die either,” Matt points out.

              “But you will,” she says. “And there will be nothing I can do to stop it. You’ll be gone, and I’ll still be here.”

              Matt forces himself to smirk. “For a few centuries.”   
  
              “Not again,’’ Elektra says. “It’s what you said: not again. You can’t bear the thought of me dying. Why should I bear the thought of you dying? For hundreds of years?”   
  
              “It’s different.”   
  
              She tugs him to her so their noses touch, so they’re breathing each other’s breath. “Yes, Matthew,” she assures him. “You’re right. It is.”

* * *

Happy reading...? 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fireplace

* * *

 

Matt tosses and turns in bed before giving up, staggering over to the door. Elektra’s apartment stretches out and away from him, hazy and unknowable in his exhaustion.

               “Matthew?” Her hand brushes against his; Matt takes it, anchoring himself. Elektra’s other hand brushes through the fringe of his hair, and the warmth of her fingertips is a balm against his clammy skin. “Can’t sleep?”   
  
               He shakes his head. “I should be out there.”   
  
               “You can’t go out there like this.”   
  
               “I know.” But he _should_ be out there. He’s lost so many nights to the case; he can’t afford to lose another here at Elektra’s, wandering aimlessly or tossing under the covers.

               Elektra draws him down the hallway. Matt follows in her wake, fixing his senses to her instead of the breezy oblivion of her apartment. He’s drawn into the living room where a rush of heat sends an inexplicable shiver through him.

               Matt draws his arms around his chest. Elektra pulls him closer, nudging him into a sitting position, back against the stone fireplace. The fire blazes. Matt shuffles away uncomfortably, his skin feeling like it’s about to run right off his bones. “I should be out there.”   
  
               “Shh…” Elektra drapes a blanket over his shoulders, sinking next to him on the floor. Matt’s skin settles back where it belongs, but his muscles threaten to make a run for it. He scrubs his hands against his arms, his chest. There are ants crawling inside him. Elektra helps, pulling him close to her. Matt resists, badly. He doesn’t really want to hold back. The fire’s warm. Elektra’s hands are soft. She pulls him down so his head’s in her lap, and she plays with his hair, his shoulder.

               “Close your eyes,” she says.

               “Elektra-“

               “Matthew.”

               He sighs, humouring her. Takes everything in his power to keep his eyes shut. His mind wanders through the apartment, out into the city, the muffled sirens…

               Elektra runs a hand down the back of his neck. Matt’s thoughts spring back and straight into her: blood pulsing through her veins, heart thrumming in her chest. Matt instinctively counts the beats. He never gets tired of hearing it. He wraps an arm around her legs, unable to muster the strength to do much else.

               The sounds diffuse: heartbeat into the stroke of Elektra’s fingers through his hair, until finally, he can’t tell her from the warm crackle of the fire. Can’t tell her body heat from the blaze.

               “Still restless?”

               Matt tries to answer, but his jaw’s gone slack. His mind’s spinning. Elektra’s hands are the only thing holding him in place, and he is content to let them as he finally falls asleep.

* * *

Happy reading!

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: champagne, like no one else
> 
> Warning: this chapter gets a little risque.

* * *

 

For once, it’s Matt’s idea. “I know how much you like playing dress-up,” he says, and Elektra smiles in spite of herself, in spite of the crappy day she’s been having, in spite of everything. She does like playing dress-up, and she can’t wait to get on the phone with her tailor. In hurried French, she orders an outfit, and then obviously adds something for him. Matt can feel her eyes on him as she speaks, her heart thrumming against the blush rising in his neck.  

               The dress and suit arrive. Matt gets his clothes on so quickly so that he can put his hands on her. Elektra guides his fingers to the many features of her outfit: the tautness of the bodice, the elaborate beading on the neck and bust, the way the skirt falls away from her legs. “It’s see-through,” she tells him with a smile, smacking him on ass on her way past. Matt snatches her by the wrist before she gets too far, twirling her back for a kiss on their way out the door.

               He gives a false name and title at the door of the party. They aren’t on the list. Elektra stomps a heel and feigns a tantrum en francais; Matt reassures her, pulling out his phone and threatening to get on the phone with someone-or-other. The doorperson starts to dismiss them but enters into a hushed conversation over a headset that finally gets them into the party with a grudgingly-delivered apology.

               Elektra grabs glasses of champagne. She finishes one in a flourish, sips at the other while she scopes out a Scotch for him. Matt draws an arm around Elektra’s lower back, pulling her to him. “No, I want champagne tonight. It feels like a champagne night.”

               She scoops him another glass from a passing tray. “What are we celebrating?”   
  
               “Whatever the hell you want,” Matt says, clinking his glass with hers. “What should we celebrate?”   
  
               Elektra’s smile warms him. She presses her glass hard into his, presses herself hard into him. “This,” she says, “I want to celebrate this. You, me –“

               “Us.”   
  
               “Us,” Elektra agrees.

               They toss back their drinks. Matt grabs the empty glasses together in one hand before she can throw them aside. He puts them on a passing tray as Elektra plucks up two more glasses.

               They mix, they mingle, they wreck havoc. Matt spills a drink on a gentleman getting handsy with a woman at the bar. Elektra lifts a wallet from an aging CEO well-known for underpaying his employees. They steal a bottle of bubbly and abscond to an office, leaving the door unlocked, playing chicken with another couple looking for their own private room or a security guard on patrol.

               “There’s a window,” Elektra says, her heartbeat tearing off and running at the thought. She clears the desk with a sweep of her arms, items clattering to the floor. Matt dodges the chaos and steps to her, ending up between her legs as she sits on the newly cleared surface. One of her fingers hooks through his tie, and she draws him over her, laying back in front of the cityscape. The other hand uncaps the champagne. The pop sends her into peels of laughter. Matt kisses her quiet. Elektra pauses, drinking some into her mouth before kissing him back, pushing the liquor between his lips. They end up laughing, bubbles spilling from their lips.

               Elektra laps it up from Matt’s cheeks, wrapping her legs around his waist, riding their hips together. “You said this was see-through?” he asks, and Elektra scoots till the shorter, tighter skirt underneath comes up and over her ass.

               “And I’m not wearing underwear,” she adds.

               “You didn’t mention that.”   
  
               “Didn’t I?’

               “No,” Matt says, kissing her on the lips. On the chin. The neck. Her chest. Elektra draws a hand through his hair, guiding him down. With her other hand, she takes the bottle, and she pours a small amount of the champagne onto the edge of the desk, between her legs.

               “To us,” she says, tapping the bottle against his cheek.

               “To us,” Matt agrees, slurping the champagne up from the edge of the desk, following the trail of bubbly straight to her.

* * *

Happy reading!

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the 12 Days of MattElektra: free choice! I went with a prompt I had received on Tumblr for a sick or injured Elektra being cared for by Matt, and having him start to recognize how much he means to others. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

The blizzard shuts the city down. Snow insulates Elektra’s apartment, locking the cold outside, where it belongs. Inside, the fire is blazing. Soup bubbles on the stove. Matt draws a loaf of fresh bread from the oven. He rounds the island into the living room, where Elektra looms at the window.

               “Dinner’s ready,” he says.

               “I’m not hungry,” Elektra replies with a beleaguered sigh.

               Matt matches her tone, equally beleaguered: “Your stomach says otherwise.”   
  
               She turns on him, giving a slight hiss thanks to her congestion. “Stop listening to my stomach.”   
  
               “Fine,” he gives a small shrug, “You haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.” Elektra scoffs at him dismissively. Matt continues, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. “You’re si-“   
  
               “I’m fine!”

               “Fibe. You’re fibe.”   
  
               Elektra storms away from the window with a huff. Her temper dislodges a cough from her throat, and she hacks her way down the hall towards the bedroom. Matt doesn’t bother going after her, but she still calls back that she’s fine, stop crowding her, stop mothering her.

               He tilts his face heavenward, holding his position as Elektra rages. God, this isn’t how he sounds, is it? Elektra is legitimately ill. Feverish, congested, achy, irritable. She should be in bed resting, not stalking about the apartment like a petulant teenager. Which is what Matt has told her several times, only to be scolded for doing so.

               Her tirade ends with another bout of coughing followed by wheezing. Matt takes that as his cue. He walks down the hallway to the bedroom, finding Elektra bent double by the wall. He doesn’t touch her, just stands in wait. In all likelihood, she’ll lock herself in the bathroom (again), but Matt intends to be there in case now, finally, she’s ready to let him help.

               God, this is exactly what he’s like. Matt hangs his head slightly in shame.

               Elektra draws a breath. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”   
  
               “You’re sick,” Matt offers.

               “I’m the Black Sky!” she snaps. “The sacred weapon of an immortal ninja army! I – “ Elektra gasps, coughs, comes back to herself. “I am an immortal ninja!”

               “And yet –“

               “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it!”

               Matt says it: “You’re sick.”

               “GAH!” Elektra thrusts a fist against the wall.

               “You’re sick and you –“ he can’t believe he’s saying this to someone else, knowing how he’s reacted to people saying it to him in the past. “You need to eat. And you need to rest.”

               Elektra says nothing. She stalks a short distance from the wall, dragging her bare feet across the floor. Matt hears her huffing, the way her breath catches on the crap in her lungs. “Come and sit by the fire.”   
  
               “I’m too warm.”   
  
               “I’ll turn it down.”   
  
               “But then I’ll be too cold!” Elektra rubs her arms. “I can’t get comfortable!”   
  
               “I can make you comfortable,” Matt says. “Let me.”

               Elektra groans. “You shouldn’t have to!”

               “I shouldn’t. I don’t. I want to.”

               Her heartbeat slows to a sad crawl inside her chest. She heaves another sigh and rolls her eyes and sinks under the weight of her symptoms, body creaking in Matt’s ears. “You don’t have to be so good to me, Matthew.”   
  
               “No, I don’t. I get to be.”

               Elektra draws her foot across the floor tentatively, her mood brightening slightly. “The soup smells good,” she says, as if she’s only just noticed.

               “Probably tastes good.”   
  
               “The bread too.”   
  
               “Yeah,” Matt says. “Shame you’re not hungry.”

               “Well,” Elektra comes closer to him, “Perhaps a little.”   
  
               “A little?”

               “Perhaps. If some were brought on a tray…to the couch in front of the fire…”   
  
               “You sure you won’t be too hot?”   
  
               “Don’t tease me!” she says.

               “Why? Unless you’re si-“   
  
               Elektra groans, swatting him on the shoulder as she storms past him, back to the living room.

               Matt smirks, trailing after her. He heads for the kitchen and prepares her a bowl of soup, a thick slice of bread, bringing them to where she lounges on the couch in front of the fire. He narrowly dodges the blankets she kicks from her legs with a groan.

               “This is ridiculous!” Elektra curses. She tucks herself to the far side of the couch, trying to hide from him. Matt sets the tray between them, a peace offering. He doesn’t know what else to say: yes, it’s ridiculous, and her endless fighting is ridiculous.

               The silence seems to ease her somewhat. Elektra eventually has to look at him, her fevered gaze more intense in Matt’s senses if only because of how quickly it softens. She can’t stay angry with him, or maybe she can’t stay angry with food. “You’re too good to me,” Elektra says quietly.

               “Eat,” Matt says.

               She reaches her shaking hands towards the tray, drawing it towards her. Matt waits on the couch, turned slightly away, giving her some space. If she’s anything like him, and she is if today is any indication, then she wants her dignity. Matt tries to give her that as she takes the first few bites. And the next few.

               Matt waits for her to finish the whole tray and sit in quiet repose, digesting, before he smirks. “Your stomach’s not growling anymore.”

               “Oh, shut it!” Elektra shoves the tray at him. Matt catches it, biting back a laugh. “I’m sick!”   
  
               Finally! She admits it. Matt doesn’t push his luck. “Want more?”   
  
               “Yes, please!” Elektra says sweetly. She gathers the blankets back on her legs, the model patient.

               Matt laughs, doing as she asks. Warmth fills him as he does, forcing him to pause: is this how Foggy feels when he gets sick? Or does Foggy spend the whole time fighting his surly attitude, his unwillingness to eat, to admit weakness, to admit that he needs help?

               He finishes putting together Elektra’s tray, returning it to her at the couch. She takes it into her lap, beaming at him as loudly and warmly as the fire blazing across from them. “Thank you,” she says.

               Matt doesn’t want his heart to swell, doesn’t want his blood to bloom with heat in his veins. He doesn’t want to feel good, to feel like there was never a problem, never a burden, not because there was – there wasn’t. There’s isn’t. There never could be, not where she’s concerned – but because what does that mean about him?

               Elektra takes him by the hand. “Thank you, Matthew.”   
  
               “It’s nothing.”   
  
               “No,” she says, shaking his hand in hers, “It’s not nothing.”   
  
               “I’m happy to do it.” Matt swallows the lump in his throat as he says it. “I’m happy to.”

* * *

Happy reading!

 


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